Quit While You're Ahead
by Querel
Summary: Dave hides from destiny in a closet and double entendres are still witty as fuck. Discontinued work.


You don't like him. He's spoiled and full of himself and thinks he can have every damn thing. You know his type. You've heard of them in legends and seen them clogging the hallways at your school, loitering around cars that Daddy bought and wearing clothes that Mommy paid for. You were just trying to stay out of the way. Just wait the whole thing out until Bro finally decided it was time to go home.

You know why he brought you here. But you don't want to have a damn thing to do with it, which was why you gave him the slip as soon as you found an opening. And it wasn't the easiest thing. You don't just 'give Bro the slip.' It's easier to try to pass through solid walls. He may have plans for you, but they're not your plans. Running into that brat wasn't your plan either. But that's what happened.

The collision was something straight out of a movie, complete with splattered punch and shattered crystal. The only thing that wasn't on the script was the way he looked at you after you bumbled out an apology and tried to side-step him. It was that look that stopped you in your tracks. You have no idea how he did it but somehow that douche managed to piss you off without even saying a word.

It was the look in his baby blue eyes that glittered at you from behind those square lenses that you were willing to bet money were designer brand. Armani, maybe. You don't know; you don't give a fuck. He got punch on the sleeve of his gray sports coat but he wasn't mad. He was sneering at you. Smirking. You were trash. He was better than you and for whatever reason, it was important that in that moment, you were aware of it. That and he had some secret he wasn't sharing. It was hidden by those awkward teeth and curled lips.

"What, I'm sorry," you repeated, trying to brush past him again.

"Bullshit." He was laughing at you.

You would've whipped around and flicked him off if you didn't have better things to do with your time, like get as far away from Bro as you possibly could.

You weaved between party guests—guys in tuxes and dames with gaudy dresses—until you managed to slip into the giant-ass mansion where this fucking soiree was set. You had to bypass some nasty looking security to get there—tattoos and scars and guns where people could see them. They let you by without a fuss but you definitely weren't encouraged to go poking around too much.

As soon as you were safely inside, you knew you would get lost if you weren't careful. And you did not want to get lost in this place. But you also didn't want to make it easy for Bro to find you. There were a few guests hanging about, so you maneuvered through them casually, following their trail to a banquet hall with an overflowing table. You weren't hungry; you didn't want to eat anything. Not off that table. You didn't trust it to even munch out of pure boredom.

You poked around until you found a bathroom and locked yourself in. Opulent and needlessly impressive. How many stories high was this fucking house anyway? Like four? They could make it a little more obvious what kind of person lived here. You would've sat on the sink counter, but this closet had one of those super modern sinks that was a floating bowl supported by a minimalist fixture attached to the wall; the water just poured from a hole in the tile above the basin. You lowered the lid of the toilet and sat on that instead.

As you flicked through your cellphone, you calculated your chances of leaving this place with your wishes to remain unaffiliated intact. You gave yourself a generous ten percent. Fuck. You hurriedly scrawled a text message to your friend Rez and told her you might not make it to next Monday. If you were an idiot, you would've chucked your phone across the room in frustration. But you knew your Bro would have your eye sockets for pinky rings if you kept breaking shit he bought for you.

You camped out in that bathroom for at least a good hour, managing to avoid guests with legitimate bladder predicaments until some drunk came bashing on the door with promises to upchuck all over the carpet. You weren't going to be an accessory that cleaning bill, so you absconded quickly. Which is when you ran into that douche again.

Only it was a little less literal the second time. You stopped short of colliding with him when you actually quit glancing around to see if you were being watched and looked forward, like a normal person. He was standing in your way. Hands clasped behind his back and that shit-eating grin still stuck to his lips. They were like girl-lips, so full….

"Walk much?" he asked you as you stumbled backwards to keep your foreheads from cracking together.

"Harhar, you're hilarious," you muttered before trying to maneuver your way around him again.

"You're Strider's little bro, right?"

That's when you knew you were fucked. The only way this kid would know your Bro was if he were involved in the line of business. There were other kids here about your age, but you figured they were all just sons and daughter of the vaguely associated politicians who fund this bullshit circus under the table. The would have no need to know your Bro's name unless they knew what was really up.

"What's it to ya?" you asked, not turning around.

"I knew it. You look just like him."

"Must be the shades; they're from my mother's side of the family."

You listened to his footsteps shuffle gently against the carpet until he walked right past you, chuckling all the way. Ha ha ha.

"It's your voice, actually," he said, pivoting to look you in the face again. "You have that same, low kinda lulling murmur with the Southern snap to it." The smile grew wider and you grew wary. "I wonder if you knew."

"Not particularly, but it doesn't really matter now, does it?" you said, annoyed. You wished this kid would just leave you in peace. You wanted even less to do with him after you realized that he could identify you. That meant he could go straight to your Bro and fill him in. It was time for another getaway. Take two: "Check ya later."

"Sure. See ya around."

You desperately hoped not. But you weren't lucky.

En route to find another hiding place, you almost walked right into your Bro. Last minute, you ducked into a coat closet and avoided the confrontation that probably would've ended your everything. You counted minutes after the footsteps fell away and only _then_ allowed yourself to breathe. The relief smelled like mothballs, cigar smoke and lady's perfume on velvet and mink. You knew you couldn't stay there all night, but it would do fine for what you needed. You crawled to the furthest corner and found a little nook to give yourself a further advantage. So you shed your jacket, pulled your earbuds from the pocket and settled there to zone out to some of your mixes while you waited for midnight to come around.

Not twenty minutes in, you were found. You would've screamed in startled panic if not for the fact that it would've made you look like a total pussy and it would've given beaver teeth another reason to ridicule you. He loomed over you like a grinning reaper. You ripped the earbuds out and glowered at him.

"Dude, the fuck?" you sighed.

"You're right on top of my stash, 'dude,'" he smirked quietly as he crouched down next to you. You furrowed your brow and scooted over so he could access his 'stash' or whatever the fuck he was talking about. You watched with mild interest as he knocked against the mahogany panel that you'd tucked yourself against and popped it clean through. You didn't say or do anything, but inside you were trying to determine if you should've been freaking out.

He reached into the hole he just made and pulled out an old shoebox, sitting across/next to you once he'd retrieved his treasure. You watched him as he shuffled around the contents for a bit, while you yourself put pieces together and eventually he produced a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Want one?" he asked, opening the box for you.

"You stash cigarettes?" you asked him, reaching for one anyway. "In a closet?"

"They're from Austria," he said, taking one for himself and sticking it between his lips before flicking the Zippo a couple times. "And I like to keep a few of them scattered about the mansion for emergencies."

"What's your crisis?" you asked him, just out of curiosity.

"I'm hard up for some action and there isn't anyone here that'll bite."

You were resolute and when he leaned in, you didn't flinch at all but simply watched. Watched as he touched the glowing tip of his cigarette to yours. When you pulled a breath, you flicked your gaze up to his eyes. He was watching you back with that sly glittering.

It was only then that you actually assessed him in full. He had a baby face, almost, but a strong jaw and dark eyebrows that were doing some suave expression that belonged under a fedora in a _noir_ flick. He seemed to be about your age, but maybe was a bit younger. He was just as tall as you, if not taller. In the shadowy reds and ochers of the closet, his skin was darker and warm and he had big hands, piano fingers that held his cigarette gently. His hair was blacker than the dark of his pupils and framed his face in one of those model-esque tousle styles. On his left hand, middle finger, was a thick, gold ring set with a huge sapphire and his shoes were polished.

"Got a name, Strider?" he asked you before settling back and taking a drag, eyes never leaving your face.

"It's Dave," you told him. Your tongue brushed against the cigarette's filter and brought back the sweet flavors of clove and tobacco. "You?"

"John," he said, extending a hand to you. "John Egbert."

That gave you pause. You certainly didn't let it show; you reached out your hand and shook his with a muttered 'pleasure' before taking it back again. You weren't allowed, though. John Egbert decided he liked holding your hand and barely let you go before lacing his fingers with your and tugging you forward.

"Come on, man, what—"

"You're my type, Dave," he said, smiling at you with zero trace of shame. "What do you say we go a few rounds?"

"You serious?" Your exasperation was palpable.

"What, am I no good? Your standards too high to fuck a mob baby?" The grin he gave you was positively shark-like. Fear wiggled through you like an electric pulse and vanished just as quickly as it appeared, suffocated under the haze of cigarette smoke that curled lazily from Egbert's flared nostrils. "Your brother's certainly aren't."

Jesus shit.

You snatched the cigarette from his lips and crushed it between your fingers. He laughed and stole yours instead, managing one last drag before you got angry and punched him in the mouth. That just made him laugh even more.

You grappled and cursed at each other, tumbling around and colliding with walls and elbows and knees. Fucker wouldn't stop laughing. And somehow in all of it, you managed to pin him down. His glasses were askew. Panting, you glared down at him as he smiled back up at you. His bottom lip had a split in it.

Your first kiss with John Egbert had a lot of teeth in it. Less of a kiss, more like an attempted maul. Egbert just had ridiculous teeth to begin with and you were venting your frustration with ferocity. He was eager enough, hips rocking up into yours. You could feel him growing hard through the fabric of his slacks.

"I like your tongue stud," he whispers when he gets the chance. You ignore him.

You macked on him until you were sick of it. And though he sounded angry when you got to your feet, when you jerked him up after you, he shut up again. You slammed him against the wall and tore at the button of his pants while he did nothing but sit there and giggle at you. So fucking irritating. You swore that you were going to drag him down to a breathless panting bitch like he wouldn't believe if only to get him to SHUT the FUCK UP.

So that's where you are, your fingers gripping hard into the supple flesh of his ass as you hold him, grinding your dick hard against his. And he hasn't shut up, but he's sputtering swear words every other breath as you lap at the cut on his lip. Your fingers push at his hole every now and then and he whimpers at it. But you're not going in. You don't know what kind of whore this boy fancies himself but you're not risking anything. Not for a onetime hatefuck in the closet.

Speaking of which, someone opens the door and goes browsing through the racks. You can hear them, but you don't stop. Just cover Egbert's mouth with your own and clamp your teeth down on his tongue as you keep rocking him into the wall. You watch his eyes widen when you pull away and purposefully give a little suckle to his bottom lip. Your lips press against his ear and you tell him he's a kinky fuck, getting off on the thrill of being caught.

"Do you want them to see?" you whisper to him as his cock twitches against you. "You want them to see you frotting in the dark with pants around your ankles?"

"Fuck, Strider…!"

"Maybe next time, baby blue." His breath in your ear is hot and damp and you see the perfect spot on his neck to suck at. The skin of his jaw is so smooth as you rub your face against it, digging your teeth into that vulnerable place. The door shuts again. You push your finger inside of him and he gasps.

A phone rings. You're thrown off your groove. John blinks and then pushes you out and away, and you almost fall flat on your ass with your cock hanging out while he reaches down to where his slacks are bunched around his feet and pulls them back up. You gape at him as he takes his cellphone out of his pocket. His eyebrows flick up almost imperceptibly as he looks at the caller ID and then answers.

"Yes, Daddy?"

His hand—you watch it wrap around his cock and pump slowly as he listens to…did he say that was his father? This is wigging you out more and more with each passing second but you are glued there, stunned. What the hell happened to 'going a few rounds?' Well, John's still there jerking off, eyeing you, so maybe this isn't as over as you thought. You figure you'll join in.

You pick yourself up and assemble your composure before walking right back over to Egbert and giving him a sneer. He shrugs with a guiltless grin and keeps listening to the voice on the phone as you get to your knees. John says something into the receiver; you eye just how big and beautiful he is. Damn. He's bigger than you are, and your length is pretty generous to begin with.

You figure you can fantasize later. You have a real moment now. His cock is hot and velvety in your mouth. You suck at the crown and look up at his face as your tongue traces the ridge of it. His smile twitches down at you and he winks, curling his hand in your hair. You probably wouldn't put up with any sweet touches given the circumstances, but you don't have it in you to brush him off. The touch is reminiscent, familiar…. You allow yourself the indulgence.

"I know, Daddy, I will." His voice is low and gentle, like he's trying casually pass off his bedroom voice as something suave. You want to hear it break. You want that composure to crumble; you were moments from it before…. If you could just…get him…to break….

You aren't lacking a gag reflex, but you do possess an excellent deep-throating technique which you are more than willing to employ. You swallow John to the root and he gasps, obviously not expecting it. You bet not; how many people are able to do something like this for him. Not many, if you had to guess. His fingers tug on your hair as he struggles to even out his breathing. You've got him.

"Yes, of course…" John, finished with his call, puts the phone into his coat pocket and starts panting more audibly. "Damn, Strider, where'd you get that mouth from?" You hum to express your amusement and then go back to choking him down as best you can. You wrap your hands around his plushrump and pull him deep into you.

"Can I come on your face?"

You quirk an eyebrow up at him. Deliberate and slow, you suction your lips around the shaft and pull back slowly, smacking your lips with a sharp suckle when you reach the head.

"Only if you lick it off afterwards."

Cheshire grin and wicked twinkling in his eyes. You have the looming feeling that his expression is going to haunt you for many nights to come.

"Deal."

You get right back to it, deciding to be as agonizing and slow as you possibly can. John doesn't seem to appreciate it. That or he does quite a bit because his vocalizations become desperate. You keep a good pace, unwilling to rush yourself. Yes, you will spend the rest of the night banging John in the closet if it will keep you away from everyone else. You have zero desire to leave.

Inside your mouth, you can feel your saliva become thick from churning, mixed with the pinching bitterness of precum. When you moan gently, you hear him gasping. Must like the pretty sounds you make. So you oblige him, humming whenever your pipes aren't stuffed mute with that generous cock down your throat.

"So good," John sighs, his other hand curling absently around your ear and then falling away with a stroke against your jaw. You close your eyes just for a moment and wish that maybe his fingers weren't so soft….

You pick up the pace, pushing John's hips firmly against the wall while you open the back of your throat and ram his throbbing dick down into it. You're gonna be sore for a day, you can tell. But that's when you take back one of your own hands and curl it around your neglected erection, pumping yourself just shy of the pace you've taken on John.

When his fingers pull at your hair and he yanks you all the way off, you tilt your head up and watch his face. His cum splashes against your lips and cheeks and there's an errant stripe across one lens of your shades but you're only mildly irritated. After all, you did give him permission. He, panting and flush-faced, chuckles down at you. You shrug. And then he pounces.

Your back hits the carpet and your cock is trapped beneath the yet-to-be-quelled erection of John Egbert, which is just fine with you as he gently begins to slurp away the mess on your face. You rock your hips and tuck your hands at the small of his back as you do, listening to him humming like a porn star. You take a moment to face the fact that he's adorable in that eager, slutty way. You were lucky to even catch such a good break this evening when you thought the world was about to crash around you. You celebrate by sneaking some kinder kisses between John's work. He's happy to repay them.

You do not, however, possess enough luck for things to keep going the way you want to. On your back, with residual traces of cum and saliva on your cheeks, John's tongue burrowing deep into your mouth and your dick still hard up and ready to go, the closet door opens again. Like the first time, you don't really care but you should because two seconds later, you're vacated, looking up at Bro's face staring stonily down at you.

And you are in so much shit.

"Having fun?" he asks. Offside you hear John giggle drunkenly and you watch him smear the back of his hand across his mouth.

"I definitely was," he says, tucking himself back in his pants before going to clean up his box and hide it away again. You, however, are seized by your collar and jerked up to your feet and then slapped so hard your shades almost fly off. Luckily, you were predicting it was coming so you brought your hand up to keep the shade-flying from happening.

"Ooh…."

Peanut-gallery commentary aside, you're still burning with embarrassment and rage and for fuck's sake, your junk's still hanging out.

"Bye-bye, Dave. See ya, Dirk!" You don't look at John leaving, but you hear his footfalls as he departs and then his murmuring as you can only assume he decided to make another phone call.

There is silence then. Just the two of you glaring at each other through tinted glass, breathing heavy while the sting smarts across your cheek and your pride and wrath are folding up on one another to concoct a sicknasty mixture of violent rage.

"You," he says, voice dangerous, "do not have a choice."

You never thought you did. You just knew you couldn't sit back and take it. You ran as long as you could.

"Fine way to start out, I give you that." He shoves you backwards into the wall. Your head hits the paneling hard. "Bravo, you little shit."

"You done?"

"Not even fucking close." He reaches down and grabs your jacket, throwing it to you. "Make yourself pretty, we're going to see the boss."

You can physically feel yourself blanch.

"Now?"

"That got your attention. Yes, sugartits, now." He leaves. You can't run anymore; you really don't have a choice.

Well, no, you always have a choice and you do now. But your choices are obey or get massacred. You choose to brownnose it because that damage is easier to fix than a broken septum.

So you straighten yourself up and make sure your fly isn't down or anything and leave the closet. Bro is standing right outside the door to make sure you don't hightail it and when you look at him, he reaches out and grabs you. He's fixing your hair. You'd be surprised if it were any other occasion, but you know the path you're about to walk down. He says you still got jizz on your shades so you pluck them off and clean up a bit more before departing.

The party's still going on. You can hear the loud drone of conversation echoing about the hallways, humming against the glass of the windows and spilling through the rooms. But you're not going anywhere near them. Instead, you are following Bro to the main hall, where the grand staircase is. When he begins to ascend it, you realize that this encounter is going to happen where eyes won't follow. Anything could happen up there. With every upward step, you're adding horrible things to this mental list you've begun composing. Fates that you might meet with. No matter what happens, you will walk back down these stairs a different person.

You and Bro don't speak. And by the time you reach the third floor, all sounds of the frivolity below have been smothered. Soundproof. You will be shot and no one will even know. You'll be bludgeoned to death without a single scream falling on an open ear. Your pleas for mercy will reach no one.

The hallways become darker the further you traverse and by the time the lighting is so low, you're debating whether you should take your shades off, Bro stops. He halts in front of a pair of doors, ornate and made of solid, dark wood. You run your eyes over the dual carvings of the family crest and thick, heavy doorknobs.

Bro knocks. You swallow everything down.

"Come in."

The voice makes every nerve in your body jolt.

Bro jerks his head towards the door. This is your show now. You step forward. Reach out. Turn the handle.

Inside is a large room. Carpeted in red and furnished with teak and brass. There are many windows, but all with the curtains drawn. There's a fireplace, full and blazing and hanging above it is a portrait of a fierce woman with inky black hair and very familiar blue eyes. Front and center is a large desk and seated in the velvet lined chair behind it is a man.

He wears a black suit and a navy shirt with a slate-silver tie, cufflinks glittering sapphires and at least three gold rings on each hand, including a wedding band. His salt and pepper colored hair is slicked back, revealing the deep lines of his forehead as he stares at your over his hands folded patiently on the desk before him. He does not smile. He does not speak.

You have not yet begun to grasp just how tangibly terrifying this man is, but you can feel instinctual whispers of it sliding between the goosebumps on your arms and the hairs at the back of your neck. He stares right through your eyes; your shades are worthless. It is a miracle you don't jump through the ceiling when the door suddenly shuts behind you.

You're almost bowled over by someone passing you. It's John. He just skips right by and goes to the man's side, standing at his right. The man doesn't take his eyes off of you, but reaches an arm out to pat John gently on the back when he comes to settle there.

"This is him?" The voice that bade you enter before is dark. Smooth like bourbon on ice and deadly like venom dripping from a scorpion's stinger.

"This is my brother, Dave," Bro affirms, stepping around you to go stand at some halfway point between you and the man behind the desk. "Raised him like my own."

"You've done well," the man says. Suddenly you feel like a piece of meat, or a muzzled show dog being inspected. You flick your gaze to John just for a moment. You figured out early on who he was but you didn't expect him to be here for this. You hope to god you're not going to regret boning him earlier.

"David, do you know who I am?"

Big man just asked you a question. You're afraid if you open your mouth, you're going to vomit. You try anyway.

"I know."

"But this is our first time meeting, isn't it?"

Oh god. You're not sure if you should be annoyed or terrified.

"It is."

"So allow me to introduce myself." He gets to his feet. You watch as he walks around John, giving him another rub on the shoulder before circling the desk and approaching you. "I am James Egbert." He's almost as tall as Bro, and that's tall enough. "Pleasure making your acquaintance." He reaches his hand out.

You shake it firmly, hoping that he can't tell you're trembling. When he smiles at you, you're not comforted.

"Pleasure's all mine," you say. He chuckles and backs up, giving you another lookover.

"I like this kid," he says to Bro. "He's got your attitude in him."

"I tried to beat it out of him, I promise."

James Egbert laughs. You don't think it's funny.

"You know why you're here today, David?" he asks after he's done enjoying the joke.

"More or less," you mutter.

"Well good," he goes on, turning back to his desk and approaching John once again. "John here gets two birthday parties, one for him and one for everyone else. You have to cater with these people, David, they expect to get invited to every occasion." James Egbert takes his son's chin and tilts it up, smiling down at him with affection. "Poor John gets so bored when the grown-ups come by. But he knows that our friends are important to us, don't you, John?"

"Yes, Daddy," John says, cheeky grin and everything.

"Good boy." James Egbert gives John a kiss on the forehead and then settles back into his chair. "So I wanted to thank you for keeping John entertained while I was busy with the other guests."

You're trying to stifle your rage at being pawned off as an impromptu baby sitter for this guy who's what…seventeen? Eighteen, maybe? You were under a different impression about this meeting.

"Don't mention it." You only barely manage to unclench your teeth when you say it.

"Of course, I had Dirk bring you down so I could finally get to meet you," he continues. "But you went above and beyond my expectations. I have to admit I wasn't prepared."

John giggles quite obviously. You watch in waking horror as he pulls his cellphone out and waggles it at you with that wicked grin on his face.

"Daddy heard everything," he says. "Forgot to end the call. Whoops."

Your stomach turns into lead. You dare to look at James Egbert and see what's waiting for you there. But he doesn't pull out a gun or anything. Just smiles placidly and says,

"I'd like to thank you. How about I give you a job? Hm? How would like to work for me, with your brother, in the Family?"

No one below would hear you scream if you refused.

And no one at all hears your screaming when you agree.


End file.
